


Rurouni Smile

by avellere



Category: Rurouni Kenshin
Genre: Comfort/Drama, F/M, Hurt, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-09
Updated: 2009-09-09
Packaged: 2017-10-13 03:03:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/132111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avellere/pseuds/avellere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Oneshot] [Contains major spoilers for Trust and Betrayal OVA] It's the end of the Bakumatsu, and Kenshin is looking for something to remember his dead wife by. This is the first step towards becoming a rurouni.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rurouni Smile

It was one of those nights.

Quickly, he wiped the sweat off his forehead, his free hand reaching into his dark blue gi for his top.

Only to find that it wasn't there.

He straightened, now wide awake, scanning all four corners of his room for his missing toy. Comprehension dawned on him after a moment, and he slumped against the wall, remembering why it wasn't with him.

He'd left the plaything at his house.

With his wife.

Tomoe...He sighed. The dream had been about her. After her death, it was no surprise that he began to see her face whenever he slept. Calm and expressionless as she trailed behind him, out of reach. Silent as he plowed on through the woods, wounded and senseless.

Twisted in pain as he plunged his sword into her shoulder and raked it across her back. Screaming her name as she fell onto the ground, staining the snow with her blood. Holding her lifeless body as he wept…

He frowned. That wasn't right; something was missing. He closed his eyes, replaying the incident in his mind. Everyone was there. The assassins, their leader, himself, his wife…Perhaps a scene? Everything had taken place in the forest, though.

An item, maybe? He ran through all the belongings that he and Tomoe had, which weren't much:

Her perfume? He remembered her wearing it as she lay in his arms, the scent filling his nostrils with its sweet, intoxicating odor.

Her diary? She'd left it at their house, as he recalled reading its contents before going out to search for her. And after the event, he had given the journal to the temple owners stationed near her resting place.

Her scarf? He had held onto it as he walked through the timberland, and following her burial, had draped it around the cross he'd made for her, to distinguish her grave from all the other ones surrounding it.

Her mirror? Abandoned at the house to burn, along her body and his top.

He shook his head suddenly, clearing his brain, his eyes snapping open. Why did he even bother to think about that? All it brought for him was pain and misery. And besides, she was dead. Thinking of her wasn't going to bring her to life again. He'd learned that from experiencing the death of his parents.

His eyelids slid shut as he drifted off to sleep.

OOO

Over the next few days, he had his work cut out for him, spending most of his hours in the shadows, escorting politicians safely to their homes or arriving just in time to save his fellow samurai from the clutches of the Shinsengumi. Although he had gotten rid of the thoughts regarding Tomoe and his dream, he soon found himself dwelling on the topic during the few minutes of free time he had between missions. On the occasional instances he went out, his eyes, hidden beneath the wide, conical hat he wore to cover his unusual features, examined the store windows and stalls carefully, searching for something, anything that would help him remember. The hunt eventually became a routine for him, a mental note placed at the back of his head to keep an eye out for when he made his nightly excursions. It was an item he browsed for while peering around the vicinity for any suspicious predators that would dare attack his charge, and spent extra minutes looking for on the way back to the inn.

As the war drew to a close, and his services became less and less needed, he passed the time pondering the nature of the object he was searching. Was it an entity that had caused him happiness? Had the article been significant or commemorative to her? Before long, he concluded a detail of the item: That, whatever it was, the thing was something she'd given to him. An uncommon gift that was his and his alone, to see and hold and marvel at.

All the while, she continued to haunt his imagination, along with his usual reveries about the people he'd killed. Sometimes he would see her spirit, floating in the dim recesses of his mind; other times, she'd be right in front of him, clasping his hand in hers as they marched through the slush together, or gazing at the flowers they'd planted in the garden outside, the sun beating down on her head. But the one nightmare he had including her remained the same.

Finally, the war ended, and amid the hustle and bustle in the Ishin Shishi headquarters and in Kyoto, the officers, soldiers and citizens racing to put their shattered lives back together for as long as the peace lasted, he made the decision to leave the city, to go away from the blood and tears and depart from the sword he'd held onto for the last five years. He continued what he started during the Bakumatsu, traveling from town to town, becoming a wanderer in the process. Although the villagers greeted him warmly, pleased with his willingness to help and polite personality, he never stayed in one place for long, denying their pleads for him to remain further. And even though his journeying revealed more fine points of his wife and articles she was associated with (Irises were her favorite flower, said to bloom in the rain - like her, he noted - and white was the color of the kimono she regularly wore) there was nothing momentous that triggered a memory reminiscent to his evening visions.

The answer came to him one day. He'd been in Osaka at the time, drinking at a pub (despite the fact that anything he ate or drank tasted like blood, drinking had become something he'd begun to depend on, a reliance that rivaled his need to have a sword by his side at all times). A group had entered the room, looking for a drink to celebrate a special occasion. Out of the five or six people that had come in, one had been a former Ishin Shishi combatant, a man by the name of Asakura Satoshi. In the middle of happily guzzling down bottles of beer and chatting with his friends, not to mention stirring up an enormous racket, he had spotted the red-haired man seated at a table in a corner by himself, and having courage partially influenced by gallons of alcohol in his system, had decided to go over and chat with the ex-hitokiri.

Slamming a pot of the spirits he held down on the slab of wood in front of the young male, he greeted him. "Himura-san! How are you doing? Enjoying life lately?"

Receiving no response from the latter and not one to be ignored, Satoshi went on. "Aw, come on, Himura! The war's over! Lighten up already!"

Upon hearing the words, he looked up, taken aback by the unexpected statement. And in that instant, the dream rushed into his mind, his eyes widening as the final piece of his vision, the thing he'd been searching for months, the bittersweet ending to the dream that had preoccupied his head ever since he'd envisioned it, slid into place.

" _It's alright, so please don't cry…"_

Her words, faint yet audible, rang in his mind, echoing in his sharp ears. With the simple phrase came a mental image, as clear as if the picture was right in front of him.

The face of Tomoe, pale and stained with a single drop of blood, her pitch-black eyes closed, her hair loose and tangled, spread out across the patch of white snow that her body was delicately laid upon, a smile etched on her serene features.

Her smile.

One that she'd shared only with him. But why keep it locked away in his heart, to never again let it see the light of day? He had other memories of her, pleasant recollections of the times they'd shared while living together. No, her smile should be worn, to show to the world that she'd existed, to remain as a symbol of her kindness. Her happiness.

Yet who would wear it? Being her husband, he was the only one alive who knew of Tomoe, aside from her younger brother Enishi, whose whereabouts were unknown.

Perhaps...himself?

But he had killed her. He had no right to own anything of hers, even if she'd left it for him. He, Hitokiri Battosai, had stained his hands with her blood, along with countless others he'd ruthlessly murdered for the sake of his beliefs. He should have died on the battlefield all those years ago, or taken his own life as a way of redeeming himself.

He blinked, coming to a sudden realization.

That was the key...Redemption.

He would renew himself. He would purify his being, to become worthy of wearing her smile. He would repent for his sins.

A small smile crept onto his face as the thought settled into his mind.

Satoshi, thinking that his attempts to cheer the redhead up had succeeded, grinned in response. "'Atta boy! There ya go!"

And giving the ex-hitokiri a hearty slap on the back that nearly upended the cup of sake he grasped in his hand, Satoshi turned and exited the building, whistling happily.

OOO

He never seen nor heard from the man ever again, but one encounter was all he needed to regain the joy he'd left behind. He was surprised by how easily the smile came to his lips, whether he was watching some children play games in the yard or amusing slapstick antics acted out by various people. Although his search had ended, he continued traveling, assisting people whenever possible and neatly declining their offers for shelter. Years came and went, and he became acquainted with the territory, making use of the skills his Shishou had drilled into him during constant hours of training in the mountains. He too changed with the seasons; his vibrant red hair kept in a loose ponytail instead of the high tress he wore previously, a single sakabato tucked next to his side rather than the traditional daisho that every samurai carried. He traded in his dark blue gi and grey hakama for a magenta shirt and white pants, in no way bothering to buy new clothes no matter how filthy or torn both became, and over time, the fierce amber in his eyes faded into a smoldering blue-violet. Nonetheless, the smile lingered on his face, a slender stretch of his lips that never ceased to surprise people. It became a trademark of his, different from the broad grin that every other male wore, yet suiting him perfectly. There were times when the smile faltered, when he couldn't summon up the strength to carry it any longer, and in those times, he wallowed in shame and despair, the sense of bloodlust returning, threatening to consume him. In those occasions, he hid his pain by using the smile as a distraction, a mask that cleverly concealed all traces of his silent agony. Yet even when disguising the hurt in his heart, his smile never lost its touch, never suppressed the amount of glee when he directed it towards someone, never failed to delight whoever chanced to see it. Never once did its light vanish, its bright spark extinguish.

Just like hers.

**Author's Note:**

> Ever since I watched the Trust and Betrayal OVA, I've always had the idea that Kenshin's smile was actually Tomoe's: Filled with happiness, but also with a bit of sorrow, the sadness being from his wife's death. This is a representation of that concept.
> 
> And about the part of Kenshin forgetting the smile...Well, I simply figured that he began to forget certain parts of his life after the events circulating around them ended. In this case, he overlooked what Tomoe said to him as she died, along with what she'd shown him, and being surrounded by the chaos of war, had neglected it until now. It's a very confusing and absurd idea, in my opinion, but I wanted to include it into the story in order to give the thought some background.
> 
> One actual example of this would be when Kenshin was training with Hiko. Until then, he'd only considered his own life to be worthless, even when others around him denied that, and shoved all the blame or responsibility onto his own shoulders. However, he recalled that his own life was valuable at the last moment while facing Hiko Seijiro's _Kuzu-ryu-sen_ , the concept having been spoken to him by one of the girls he met as a slave child who had protected him from the bandits, thus enabling him to master Hiten-Mitsurugi-Ryu's ultimate move, _Amakakeru Ryu No Hirameki_ , in the process. If you aren't convinced that the evidence is true, watch episode forty-two.
> 
> Any thoughts on this are welcomed, as are reviews. However, that does not mean flames are. I do NOT own Rurouni Kenshin. It belongs to Nobuhiro Watsuki. The only person I own in here is Asakura Satoshi, who probably won't be mentioned in any future stories.


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